


Power Up

by WhiskeySoda



Category: TXT - Fandom, Tomorrow X Together | TXT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Play, Anal Sex, Arcades, M/M, Macro/Micro, Masturbation, Power bottom Yeonjun, Soobin's bike, Soobin's juice box, Timid top Soobin, Yeonjun's claw machine, belly bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 13:05:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17426438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeySoda/pseuds/WhiskeySoda
Summary: On a bed of white and brown teddy bears dressed in red and white striped shirts, Yeonjun reclines leisurely. Furiously, the Lilliputian boy trapped inside the claw game strokes his cock.





	Power Up

The faucet is rusty. At least, that’s what Soobin thinks when he watches the rain. Sprinkled and uneven, water dribbles from the sky in unpredictable bursts. Someone will turn the faucet on, and the water pours and pours and pours until the sink is flooded. Then, someone will try to turn the faucet off. The rain is lessened, but never goes away completely.

“Well,” Soobin crushes the empty juice box in his hand. The sugary taste of apple juice is thick in his mouth. Depositing the box into the trash can, he looks out at the street, cleared completely of foot traffic because of the rain. A single motorcycle buzzes down the road, and Soobin decides that they aren’t so different, he and whoever owns that Yamaha. The air smells of sour asphalt tainted petrichor.

The lull in the rain is deceptive. Soobin turns his head back to the window that he’s lazed against for what could’ve been hours or could’ve been minutes. Upon the glass are hand-painted blue and yellow letters that promise fresh produce and meat. A cat sits on the ledge from the other side and stares at Soobin and the outside world. “What would you do?”

While waiting for the cat to respond, Soobin tears open the bag of candy that he bought in the store with his teeth, unwraps one slowly, and surrenders the wrapper into the void of his pocket. Sour melon hits his tongue, and hard sugar _click-clacks_ across his teeth as he pushes the candy from the right side of his mouth to his left.

Rainbows and pigeons that eat chips from the palm of your hand, pure silver American dollars found in puddles and rameyun on special. When the city is empty like this, all kinds of strange and wonderful things can happen.

In that moment, a decision is made. Soobin’s fingers press up against the glass and gesture to the cat. “Stay dry.”

He hefts his leg over his bicycle, peddles leisurely and jumps the curb onto the street. People always say that Soobin is late. But as far as he can tell, time isn’t like ice cream.  Time doesn’t melt in the sun. No, time is much more like hard candy. Sturdy and durable, it erodes slowly, but there’s always more in the crinkled foil bag.

Ring of the bell is paired with the hitch of the wind. Wiggle of the handle bars becomes mixed with fine mist. The faithful _tick tick tick_ of the bike chain drones on until it’s replaced by glass bead raindrops.

The faucet is rusty, so it takes a minute to get the water running. A few drops, and then a few more so that he feels damp on his hoodie. Water soaks through and his clothing feels heavy and uncomfortable. Soobin passes the dry cleaners’, the florist, the post office. He has no real need to hide from the rain, but when he pedals past the cotton candy lights of the arcade, well..All of a sudden he can feel the sting in his muscles from pedaling for what could have been blocks or could have been miles. The small bills he had leftover from lunch burn a hole in his pocket.

So he doesn’t even bother to lock up the bike. It’s raining, and he’s the only person in the city right now that’s stupid enough to ride a bike. No one wants the pale blue Schwinn.

* * *

 

Upon entering the arcade, Soobin is inundated by flashing lights and reflective logos on the machines. Rays of light bounce from machine to mirror, machine to mirror, creating a blinding maze of prisms from which his eyes cannot break free of. High pitched music rises up over the tinny sounding pop music station that plays in the background. These noises are accented by recorded explosion noises coming from an ancient first person shooter and the constant _thump thump_ of the drumming game.

Melon candy makes the air taste sickly sweet.

His head hums with annoyance, often the only signal he gets before a full blown headache.

Intending to leave, his sneaker squeaks against the white and lilac tiled floor.

But turning on his heel, Soobin finds that the exit has been obscured by a long mirror surrounded by flashing bulb lights. Strange. That didn’t seem to be there before.

But when the city is empty, all kinds of strange and wonderful things can happen. So instead, he walks down a short corridor. Surrounded on all sides by the maze of mirrors, Soobin cannot escape the sight of himself backlit in shining light. The mirrors close in, make it harder for him to determine where the real him ends and the reflection begins.

Twist after turn, twist after turn until Soobin, desensitized to the sight of his own reflection, smacks face first into glass with a sharp _slap_. 

And then something strange and wonderful happens.

All of a sudden, the raucous noise from the arcade machines are drowned out by the sound of his own heart rumbling in his chest.

Time isn’t like a popsicle to Soobin. It’s not something that will melt and loose shape in the sun. Time is more or less like the bowl of a rice cooker filled to the brim. Plentiful, never-ending, and more than he could ever need.

So, for most people, the hurrying kind of people, they might feel something different when they see what’s before Soobin.

A boy his own age, stylishly dressed, albeit no taller than the tip of his middle finger to just past his wrist is trapped inside a UFO catcher. Most people would probably feel shock. Then confusion. Then fear. 

Instead? Soobin takes _this_ exact moment to think about something he’d been putting off for a very long time. Whether or not he liked boys somehow seems so, so much more relevant now than it ever has before.

The backlit decal at the top of the machine blinks at him persistently, demanding his attention, “Yeonjun,” over and over again until it disappears around the corner, “Yeonj--”

The arcade is as empty as his brain right now and as hollow as the aching place in his heart that he’s neglected for so long. So now, all he can do is look helplessly at the shape of the other boy’s body, small and perfect.

On a bed of white and brown teddy bears dressed in red and white striped shirts, Yeonjun reclines leisurely. His hoodie, a perfect miniature version of the high-end clothes he sees in window-shops, is rucked up his chest exposing a smooth fluttering stomach. White joggers, small enough to dress one of his little sister’s dolls, are pulled down around his hips. Slightly oversized, they make his body look even smaller; the curves that he can see, more forbidden. Furiously, the Lilliputian boy trapped inside the claw game works his cock.

Yeonjun’s eyes flutter open slowly and take Soobin in leisurely. His raspberry pink tongue pokes out from the corner of his lips, and his mouth curls into a smile when he sees Soobin through the glass.

Looks at him like time isn’t in freefall like a cold, sterile steel claw, but one viscous, endless drip of honey.

Their eyes meet for a mere fraction of a second. Soobin feels his eyes go wide like dinner plates. Yeonjun is bold and cocksure in ways that he himself is not. Soobin feels like he’s been picked out and sized up. Even though he’s infinitely taller, broader, and stronger than the boy in front of him he feels like he’s about to get taken out in a single blow.

And he’s kind of ready for a total knock out.

Yeonjun mouths something to him, but the sound is blocked out by the glass.

Soobin responds, equally futile “what? I can’t understand?” His left-hand flutters to the glass and splays flat. His other hand digs fitfully in his pocket for the misplaced bills. When his hand hits wrinkled paper, Soobin feels the mounting tension that builds in his back shift into something warmer and heavier in his chest. The claws look so hard, and Yeonjun’s body, so frail “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Yeonjun’s hands leave his cock, and he stares at Soobin with wide, expectant eyes. He’s no lip reader, but this time the boy goes slow enough that it cannot be missed. “You won’t.”

Soobin heeds the order by feeding the bill into the slot.

With trembling hands, Soobin pushes the joy stick back, back, back and then slides it over, over, over. Letting the claw drop, Soobin watches as the metal prongs drop. They catch cloth from the plush toys, but slide right through, jostling Yeonjun slightly on the bed of toys.

Paper tickets, a useless consolation prize, extrude from a slot just below the joystick.

“Really?” Soobin smacks against the glass.

Immediately, Soobin tries again feeding another bill into the slot. This time, his aim is much better. When he drops the claw, metal surrounds the Yeonjun’s impossibly small waist. He grabs onto the prong and holds on for dear life. And it looks like—

 When Yeonjun is suspended high above the ocean of stuffed bears, the claw snaps open, knocking his grip loose and sending him tumbling down.

“Damn it!”

Yeonjun, flushed red and sprawled back onto the stuffed animals, seems just as frustrated as Soobin is. Then, he tilts his gaze backwards.

Soobin’s gaze follows.

Crude pixelated lights consume the scoreboard until angry, serif letters yell at them “FREE PLAY.”

What happens next is like something out of a movie, one of those weird arthouse movies, but a movie nonetheless.

Soobin wipes the sweat from his palm onto his jeans. Then, he takes the joystick into his hand once more. Pushing it back, and then pushing it to the right, he lets the claw drop just a _touch_ further than before. The metal sinks deep into the stuffed animals, and pulls Yeonjun upward.

Rising from the stuffed animals, Yeonjun is able to better position himself within the loose steel cage. His arms and legs wrap around one claw. His pants, still undone, slide down his frame and show the crest of his hips.

Suddenly, time matters. It matters very much. The claw’s slow crawl back to the chute feels like hours. The claw opens upward, and Yeonjun slides down the metal. His feet dangle helplessly, and yet, he’s so far from the bottom of the chute. Soobin jams his hand past the metal trap door to break Yeonjun’s fall.

Soft, like a high five, Yeonjun hits his hand.

When Soobin extracts his hand from the chute, he’s met with the sight of Yeonjun, and it’s mostly unchanged from before: joggers pushed down low, hair disheveled, faced flushed. Yet, somehow, it’s completely different when they aren’t separated by glass.

“What’s your name?” Yeonjun’s voice is soft, but deceptively powerful, rising up over the clang and the beeps of arcade noise.

“Soobin.” His voice sounds scratchy and dry.

“You wanna play?”

“Um,” there’s no good reason he should feel so shy right now. Soobin doesn’t often feel powerful, but right now he has power in droves. But, the place where Yeonjun’s joggers are pulled down presses warm skin against his palm. Yeonjun’s cock, smaller than the pad of his finger, is sprung free. “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to drop you? Squish you? Sell you to some shady newspaper?”

“No. Like I said. You won’t hurt me.”

With that response, Soobin pulls Yeonjun’s joggers the rest of the way off.

With the soft press of his index finger Soobin guides Yeonjun back onto his cupped hand.  “You’re so cute.” His finger hooks up underneath Yeonjun’s hoodie, rucking it up high and then raising it up over his shoulders. When Yeonjun is completely naked, Soobin trails his fingers downward, rolling the soft pad of his index finger over Yeonjun’s cock.

Soobin can feel a small bead of moisture pooled at the tip. “You remind me of this book I read when I was the kid. _The Borrowers,_ or something like that.”

“You just—ah,” Yeonjun makes the best kind of noise, short and breathy. Grinding into his fingertip, Yeonjun fires back. “Get horny from kids’ books?”

“You’re about the same size of any guy I’d get off too if I looked at videos on my laptop.” With the exact same effect too. Yeonjun is so sensitive, every slight tremble-shiver movement of his finger earns him some kind of reaction. “Just better resolution I guess.”

From the corner of Soobin’s vision, he can see the claw machine in the background. The thin joystick topped with a bulbous red plastic knob suddenly becomes all that he can see.  “Hey Yeonjun?” From the way that he tousles his head against his palm, to the way that his body tenses up, he can tell that he’s close. “You really know I won’t hurt you right?”

“Yeah?”

“And you know…It always feels better for me when—” What an awful time for his timidness to return. “When I have something inside.”

“Hell yeah,” Yeonjun breathes.

Soobin allows spit pool in the corner of his mouth. Damp, and just a bit disgusting, Soobin spits into his hand and coats the joystick until it’s slick with spit.

Yeonjun crawls off of his hand, and straddles the joystick. Slowly, because they have all the time in the world, Yeonjun rocks his hips, pushing the joystick into himself millimeter by agonizing millimeter. “Fuck, Soobin,” and the sound that he makes is caught somewhere between a moan and a cry. “This is really big.” When he’s firmly seated, knees parallel to the raised buttons on the claw machine console Yeonjun looks absolutely ruined. His body is covered with the sheen of sweat that shimmers a surreal pink-green in the neon arcade light. His stomach bulges from the joystick knob.  “I thought you’d fuck me with your little finger.”

Soobin doesn’t respond right away. He’s too busy undoing his own belt and popping the button. When his cock is free, he finally speaks again. “No, this will be better.” With his right hand he grips his own cock and works himself slowly. Firm grip at the base, glide up the shaft, and twist at the head. This is in time with the slow calculated rub of his fingertip against Yeonjun’s cock.

“Soobin,” his name on Yeonjun’s tongue is slurred like he’s had one shot of liquor and is drunk. “Soobin,” is repeated as he rocks on his knees to pull the joystick in deeper.

“Yeonjun,” desperate and needy because watching him is perfect, but the feeling of his hand isn’t enough.  Soobin rubs his own cock against Yeonjun’s distended stomach, and lets small hands envelop the head.

All too soon, Yeojun’s cumming against the pad of his thumb, and Soobin? Soobin’s still rock hard and unsure of what to do. “Yeonjun, please.”

It’s difficult now to do what he takes for granted. Moving slowly and carefully seems impossible. With his thumb and forefinger wrapped around Yeonjun’s middle, he lifts him off of the joystick with an obscene _pop._

Then, he places Yeonjun on top of his own erection. So slight, the weight of Yeonjun’s whole body barely makes it flag.

This too isn’t enough, but he likes the way that Yeonjun latches on. He loves the way that Yeonjun spreads his legs wide and humps up against his cock with his whole body, and he revels in the way that Yeonjun smears precum around on the tip of Soobin’s cock with both hands.

“Yeonjun please,” and “Yeonjun, I can’t—” It feels good, but it just isn’t enough.

It isn’t until Soobin’s wilted against the glass of the claw machine that Yeonjun reminds him one final time that he isn’t in charge, and has not been since he stepped foot into the arcade. “Okay, I’ll stop being greedy.” It’s some kind of confession that Soobin doesn’t yet understand. “You can always trade in your tickets for a larger prize.”

At that moment, Soobin’s eyes drift downward. The small stream of perforated green apple colored tickets that dangled from the machine before has grown into a small mountain folded in upon itself many times over.

* * *

 

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.” They’ve just met. His dick is still aching. He feels so protective of Yeonjun, yet he feeds the tickets into the counter dutifully.

“Trust me,” Yeonjun assures him for the countless time. “I’m gonna be just fine.” Yeonjun lies naked on the glass prize counter blending in with plastic kazoos and balsa wood paddle balls.

The neon green counter reads well over a hundred thousand when Soobin watches the last of the tickets disappear into the machine. “Now what?”

Turning his head back to Yeonjun, he already has his answer.

Dark purple smoke clears unfurls from around Yeonjun’s body. Seated upon the counter, his toes don’t quite hit the floor, but he’s become normal size.

Dick out, pants undone, Soobin trips over his own feet to close the distance between himself and Yeonjun. Silken soft skin that was in short supply moments ago is endless underneath his fingers now. The overwhelming sugary taste of melon candy in his own mouth melts into the soft sigh that Yeonjun makes when their mouths meet.

Soobin kisses with too much tongue and too much spit. He knows this because he can feel the unpleasantness in his own mouth, but feels powerless to stop it. When Yeonjun pulls back to try to break the kiss, he holds him firm and demands more.

When they finally do part with a _smack_ Yeonjun laughs in a dark dangerous tone. “Now?” Another kiss, just a taste of what Soobin really wants, a flick of the tongue and the trace of his lower lip.  “We play the second round.”

Yeonjun lies back on the wide glass prize counter. His rim is stretched puffy and red from sitting on the joystick.

“Oh my god.” Knowing that Yeonjun is no longer fragile, Soobin thrusts into Yeonjun with reckless abandon. It’s easy to get lost in his softness and impossible tightness. _So so so_ much better than his hand. Yeonjun is like a vice, and with every rock of Soobin’s hips, Yeonjun clenches down on hm harder.

Because he’s still in control.

Because his body is a game to Yeonjun, and he doesn’t even need to cheat to hit the bonus. Soobin cums in short, powerful spurts deep inside of Yeonjun, but his body doesn’t quit. Even when he feels milked dry, his cock throbs and pulses. Overstimulated, he cannot bear to pull out just yet.

With a love drunk, lop sided smile, Yeonjun jerks himself to completion. Cum dribbles down the length of his cock and onto the reflective glass and it pools with his own cum leaking obscenely out of Yeonjun’s ass. “I win Soobin.”

* * *

 

“So what now?”

Soobin had enough tickets for bigger clothes for Yeonjun, he supposes. Soobin helps him dress with shaking fingers. Then, he totes him on the back of the bike.

The city is still theirs to inherit. No one dares to escape to the outdoors for fear of the rain, so Soobin pedals in long, lazy figure eights in the middle of intersections. The faucet is still rusty, but the rain has stopped. A fine mist coats their faces like sunscreen on a beach day. Then, like the fog on the mirror, the mist is wiped clean, and all that’s left is the bright warm sun.

Inky black clouds fade into wispy white puffs in a rich blue sky.

The weight of Yeonjun's arms wrapped around his neck feels just right. 

“Um…” In the distance, Soobin can recognize the comforting green and orange of a seven-eleven. “Wanna get some juice?”


End file.
